My name is Cas (F31), and I live in a small town in Australia. I’m a freelancer at a boarding house in my town, helping students with a range of things to make their academic experience as positive as possible. One evening, I was working with a young girl, T (F16). We were discussing some school stuff when my next student arrived early. L (F16) set down her things, and the girls began talking about something happening on Snapchat. I rolled my eyes — as an educator, Snapchat is the bane of my existence. But I let the girls talk freely; clearly, it was important.

T and L discussed another student, D (F15). In the vaguest terms (because I don’t want to accidentally expose her), D’s ex-boyfriend (M21) had hacked into and blocked her from accessing all her social media accounts. He was consistently posting explicit videos of her — some of her in the shower, some of them being intimate, and some of her while she was asleep. These videos were public and accessible to everyone. The girls discussed how they had seen the videos and photos for weeks, but that they’d been getting more frequent in the last few days.

I was horrified.

But sadly, it gets worse. D had a machete held against her throat and was told that if she exposed what was happening, the ex-boyfriend would kill her and her entire family.

Needless to say, I had to do something about the situation. Because I was there as a freelancer, I wasn’t classed as a ‘mandatory reporter.’ However, as a human being with standards and morals, I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I went straight to the office to speak to whoever was available. There were two supervisors on duty — one male and one female. The female supervisor, P, was busy talking to someone else, so I spoke to the male supervisor, G. I informed him that someone was sharing explicit media content of a minor without her consent. I may have also said that the following was happening: sharing, possession, and creation of inappropriate media content and inappropriate YA intimacy. G told me they were aware of the situation but thanked me for letting him know. I asked about my reporting requirements. He said he wasn’t sure and asked me to get in touch with DCP (Department of Child Protection). So that’s what I did.

On my drive home, I called the DCP hotline and waited on hold for what seemed like an eternity. I was shaking with rage and concern. When I wasn’t swearing in anger, I was bawling like a baby. When I finally got through to someone, they said they weren’t sure what to do or how to proceed, so I was put on hold again. After another lifetime, I was connected with someone helpful. This person listened to everything, took notes, and asked questions as needed. They were brilliant. I was then advised to contact the local police — so I did.

The officer I spoke to was amazing. They took everything I had to say seriously and showed genuine concern for D’s safety. I was told the police would be following up immediately and was thanked for my call.

I went back to the boarding school the next afternoon and was filled in on all the gossip. Apparently, the police showed up at 9:30 p.m. (I’d called at 8:00 p.m.) and interviewed all the students who knew even the smallest detail. It was deemed that D was safe for that evening, but they’d be back the next day.

This is where things get dicey.

The next morning, I woke up to several messages from students I work with saying that D had tried to hang herself in her bedroom that night. She’d been rushed to hospital and was going to stay there for a few days.

I felt sick — physically and mentally. Had I been the reason she tried to end her life? Were my actions responsible for what happened? Did I potentially put D at risk from herself and/or the ex-boyfriend? I was in tears, dwelling over the situation. It definitely wasn’t my favourite way to start the morning.

Later that day, I was informed that D had been removed from the boarding house and was going to be taken back to her hometown to live with her parents permanently. I was so relieved. Her being safe was all I wanted for her. I was also told that the ex-boyfriend had been taken to be interviewed and was going to be held accountable for a laundry list of bad things, including the sharing, possession, and creation of inappropriate media content and inappropriate YA intimacy. That made me punch the air in satisfaction and triumph. I was living my best Breakfast Club life.

⸻

Ok, this is where I might be in the wrong.

A few days later, I showed up at the boarding house to find the principal, A (F50-ish), asking for a ‘quick word.’ My stomach dropped. The feeling of dread was soon replaced with a burning rage. A claimed that I should have interrupted the female supervisor because the issue was “women’s business” and males shouldn’t be involved with anything to do with female boarders. I was shocked. That’s such a backwards and outdated view. I explained that P was busy, so I spoke to G — who, by the way, was the senior supervisor at the time and had been at that particular boarding house the longest. My thinking was: it didn’t matter who I told; a supervisor is a supervisor. Their gender has absolutely nothing to do with their ability to do their job. I also stated that I wanted to give as much information to the supervisor as possible and didn’t want to accidentally omit anything. I have ADHD, so remembering stuff can be a struggle.

A reiterated that I should interrupt someone while they’re working and actively assisting someone, rather than speak to the person who is available and situated in a place where information wouldn’t be overheard.

Like a good little soldier, I smiled, nodded, thinly apologised, and explained my thought process one more time. A didn’t care and wouldn’t budge. To her, I was wrong and she was right. She’s the absolute authority and said I should be more mindful of protocols if I wanted to continue freelancing there. I exhaled through my nose and began counting down from ten.

A also informed me that reporting it to the police was “unnecessary” and “shouldn’t have been done because the situation wasn’t that bad.” I nearly choked on air. Excuse me, what? Have you lost your dang mind? No, ma’am, you can take yourself and leap off a tall building. It’s a short drop and a sudden stop.

After leaving A’s office, I was fuming. I was shaking with rage and white-hot anger. My anger issues were trying to poke their way through. Like, all I wanted to do was shake A and tell her to sit on a cactus and rotate. I’m not as strong as I used to be, but I can still fucking floor her without a second thought. Being an ex-heavyweight boxer definitely has its perks. Jars beware — I’m on the lookout for people in need of jar-opening. After several deep breaths, I moved on and went to work with my students. The distraction and hard work made it difficult to focus on them, though.

I was back to an anger that rivalled Australian bushfires. I called my brother (L29), who had just become a first-time dad. I relayed the story to him and asked if he’d care if I went to the “wrong” supervisor based on their binary gender. He went silent for a while before saying: • “Sorry, I just went to a very dark place. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my baby.” • “The supervisors are there to literally supervise — irrespective of their gender.” • “A is a cunt.” • “And give me this dude’s address. He won’t remember how to — or have enough teeth to — eat baby food.”

I then called a friend and relayed the information to him, keeping it super vague. He agreed with me, saying gender shouldn’t be brought into the situation — safety is paramount and non-negotiable.

So… am I in the wrong? Or did I do the right thing?